


Diplomatic Efforts

by ninhursag



Series: Diplomatic Efforts [2]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, Angst, Dubious Consent, Gangbang, M/M, Multi, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-02
Updated: 2010-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:48:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet another beauty <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/"><b>st_xi_kink</b></a> is responsible for. The <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/3656.html?view=7342152#t7342152">prompt</a> is:  Kirk turned tricks when he was younger, so when it becomes apparent that some seducing is needed, he volunteers. Spock is uneasy in the beginning and tries to reason with Kirk. And we all know how that goes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diplomatic Efforts

**Author's Note:**

> God, I don't even know. Everyone likes hookerfic right?

He'd been good at this game for a long time, but it bothered him how easy it was to slip back into that old skin. He's pushing being old for it at twenty-five, but not that old, and anyway, this wasn't an alley outside a bar or the strip club skin trade where jailbait was king. This was fucking high class, so it was actually good to have that extra weight and sophistication of not being a kid. Or so Admiral Hilarious-- well, Carter, but Hilarious worked better for him-- told him in the transmission.

Jim Kirk had never been pimped by an admiral for the sake of his government before, so that part was new. Of course that's not how Hilarious put it. No, he had on his serious face with his hands folded on the table in front of him.

"Jim," he'd said, like he was trying to pull a Pike and pretend he was Jim's daddy. "You damn well know that if we're not at war with the Romulans today, it's just a matter of time. Having access to the Hibernian dilithium mines is going to put us light years ahead in our preparations."

Jim had just given him his best 'spit it out' look. "And you think the best way to get access to the mines is to fuck the Clan leader into submission? Interesting. Ordinary trade negotiations too vanilla for you, Admiral? Isn't this why we have diplomats?"

He got back the more in sorrow than an anger sigh that made him wish he were in the same room as the fucker. He kept his hands under his desk so that the camera couldn't see them tighten into fists. "Trade negotiations have broken down. The way the Admiralty sees it, we have three options. Lose the mines and decrease our chances when war hits us. Take them by force and compromise all of our principles. Or give them what they want."

"A good, hard fuck with a starship captain. Symbolic dominance, which, if you ask me, is a really wonderful cultural artifact, and completely worth preserving in our allied worlds," Jim said, just to watch the guy flinch and because if they were really asking him to do this he could get away with saying pretty much anything right now. Admiral Hilarious had found a much more delicate way of putting it. "I didn't realize that kind of thing didn't compromise Federation principles. Awesome."

Admiral's daddy face hardened like he wished he got to hand out spankings with the attitude. Whatever. "Your juvenile file makes it abundantly clear you have the expertise in this area, Captain," he said. Definitely no more Mr. Nice Admiral. Jim grinned at him and took an imaginary bow, but the guy didn't stop. "Of course we could take the time to brief someone else and give them the appropriate training--"

"Training?" Jim muttered, his smile twisting into a rictus. "Is that what my _judicially sealed_ juvenile files told you I have? And are you serious? If I say no, you're going to try to bully some other poor idiot with the bad taste to be sitting in a Captain's chair into some kind of diplomatic prostitution?"

The Admiral harrumphed and visible straightened himself. "Accommodating the needs of another culture is not--"

"And by accommodating you mean whoring me out?" Jim snorted and then raised his palms up. He wasn't going to let them throw some poor by the book bastard who had no idea what they were throwing him or her into to this particular wolf. "Fine. Whatever. You get to fulfill your cheap little pimp fantasies, but don't expect me to cut you in on the profits."

It was almost worth it to see the purple and red that Hilarious turned. Poor bastard really needed to get checked out for stroke danger signs. Jim would hate to lose another daddy wannabe like that. And here he thought he'd gotten out of the risk of that when he got out of his mother's house.

Once he knew he was going to do it, he'd thought about just not letting anyone in on the real mission parameters. Mostly because saying it out loud just sounded even more ridiculous than doing it, but he figured pussy footing around would just end up piquing his First's curiosity. That would lead nowhere awesome in a handbasket. Besides, someone needed to know if it went sideways.

It was actually easier to get in after Spock checkmated him in an extremely sneaky play during their weekly chess game. It made Spock all stealthy smug, with an upturned mouth and an irritating set to his jaw that would have been kind of hot if the guy weren't, like, a Vulcan. A Vulcan that his communications officer already had all sewn up.

"Know anything about Hibernian dominance diplomacy?" he asked, like he was asking about the weather patterns.

"Indeed," Spock said smoothly. His hands were careful and clever as he put the chess pieces away, sliding every one into the right place. Jim concentrated on that. "It is apparently a modification of certain ritual codes that allows them to come to an agreement over valuables without engaging in actual warfare. It centers around sexual submission by the leadership caste. Unpleasantly primitive, but perhaps preferable to the alternative."

"It's why we don't have any treaties with them," Jim put in, before he had to hear a regurgitation of someone's paper on the topic. "None of the senior staff has ever wanted to volunteer to get fucked for dilithium crystals before."

Spock gave him a sharp look, his hands gone still while he was still holding a chess piece in his hands-- a knight. "That has been correct to the present time, I believe. However, your grammatical usage suggests that someone has volunteered now."

Jim gave a low whistle and grinned. "Damn, you're good. You got me."

"Captain," Spock began and his lips were pressed a little too firmly together but his face was the same otherwise. If Jim couldn't see the distortion of the stainless steel knight in Spock's too tight grip, he wouldn't have guessed it bothered him much at all. "If you are suggesting what I believe, I do not--"

Jim shook his head. Anyone else he'd have reached out to clap his hand on their shoulder, but Spock would just back off and glare at him for it. "The Admiralty actually did the suggesting, but in the end, they have a valid point. We need those dilithium crystals, Spock."

Spock's nostrils didn't exactly flair, but his expression was interesting to watch. Jim's seen him mad before, hell yeah, but usually only when there was about to be an immediate and violent application of righteous force. Now he just looked... mad. Huh. It made the edges of Jim's mouth curl up into another smile.

"What the Admiralty suggested is in direct violation of a number of regulations, starting with flesh trafficking and rising to--"

Jim shook his head. "But, like you said, perhaps preferable to the alternative, right? Which is either not having those crystals or taking them by force and dealing with the blow-back."

Spock breathed noisily. "I am not sure I can agree with this analysis. You are not--" he paused, frowned and looked up at Jim. "This is not something that should be asked of you."

"I'm uniquely qualified to do this, according to Admiral Carter," Jim said blithely without alluding to any mysteriously unsealed juvenile shenanigans. He figured he had enough of a reputation in... xeno exploration... to be considered qualified in another way. "Maybe it will be fun."

Spock gave up and outright glared at him. "As you are well aware, if you have made any study into the ritual in question, which I do not doubt you have, any 'fun' for you would be perhaps the direct opposite of the intent."

Jim sighed and put his hands on the table, leaning forward and giving Spock his most blithe, sunny smile. "I have a really expansive definition of fun, promise," he said and winked. "Anyway, if it goes badly for any reason, you'll be here to take care of the ship. It'll be fine."

"Captain. I cannot register an objection to this course of action in strong enough terms," Spock said, still stupidly, rigidly pale and straight faced. Jim could tell the chess knight was a lost cause. He'd have to replicate a new one.

"Your objection is noted," Jim said, because what else could he say? Noted and circularly filed? Spock didn't need him to say that out loud to hear it. "I will have to order you not to discuss the exact parameters of the mission with any of the rest of the crew." His mouth curled. "You know, for morale reasons."

Spock glared a little harder. "Understood," he spat, like he was trying to say 'fuck you'. Which was really kind of fun to watch. "However, you should be aware that while the ritual you intend to perform is obscure it is not... unknown. Certain of the bridge crew have expertise in diverse customs and will be able to speculate."

Certain members of the bridge crew, ha. Jim rolled his eyes. Probably the one that was an expert in xenolinguistics and could talk to rocks if she thought about it long enough. Awesome, she already thought so highly of him too.

He rested his chin on one knuckle. "Yeah, yeah, fine, you can tell your girlfriend if she's going to figure it out anyway. Just remind her it isn't nice to gossip."

Spock took a long breath. "Captain," he began and this time he sounded softer. Like he was about to try to be nice or something.

Jim blinked, alarmed, and got up so fast his chair rattled. "Right," he said quickly, forcing his smile to widen. "Good we got this conversation out of the way. You have a great day, Mr. Spock, and enjoy your victory. I'm not letting you win at chess again."

He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not when Spock let him go without another word.

\  
Spock was a fucking bastard who was right on purpose just to be annoying. Jim's had that aspect of him figured out for a good long time, but nothing brought it home quite like how much it sucked to be bent over an altar in full uniform while someone blew weird smelling smoke on him and someone else pulled down his pants.

He could have just gritted his teeth and gone with it. It was kind of like being the favor at a bachelor party of gray skinned guys with kinky ideas and big dicks. At least he didn't have to play drinking games. Not exactly great times, but survivable and he could forget about it in the morning.

It was a good plan too, except for the part where he was pretty sure that smoke was some kind of a hallucinogenic and that pulled everything out from under him.

He couldn't have said where he lost it, but it was somewhere between the time someone bit a little too hard on his earlobe like they were going for blood and when he felt the bump of someone's balls against his ass when the first dick bottomed out inside him.

He must have screamed, because his throat was sore later. Must have panicked and fought because his fingers and knuckles were all torn up and there was flesh and blood caught under his fingernails that wasn't his and wasn't human.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he'd remember reading a paper that set out the whys and hows. That it was better if he fought, maybe necessary, that the symbolic victory couldn't be won if the opponent lay still and took it. He could see it behind his eyelids between blinks, clean white type face that should have told him what was in store for him.

He didn't remember where he was, if it was a club in a backroom and the stink in his nostrils was spilled beer and vomit, if it was his mom's house and he was hiding in the closet pretending he was somewhere else. If he was just doing his fucking job and all he needed to do was keep still, just keep still and this would be great, this would be over, if he could just keep still.

_No screaming, they like it when you scream, it gets them hard if you cry._

Fuck it hurts.

You better get the money up front if they want to make your cry. It's gotta be extra for that, a lot extra.

He couldn't remember where he was and how he was supposed to act. His knuckles were bruised and his wrists and elbows and knees ached down to the bone. There was blood and only some of it was his.

Someone caught his wrists and pushed them down, cuffed his arms over his head, forcing him down on his stomach again. Hard stone cut into his hips and thighs. More of that smoke, thick and vicious, filling up his lungs and brain, making his bones quake and his stomach churn.

There were hands on him and it felt like it went on for years, like it was the worst thing that ever happened.

He didn't know how long it went on. His mind was cracked. Drug flashbacks, trauma, PTSD, the rational part of his brain told him, but mostly that part of him was locked into a small, gibbering closet, watching from the between the cracks. All the shit he'd kept locked up in the dark and now it had him locked up instead, screaming and pounding his fists on the door while his body was torn up and taken.

The truth was, he didn't remember much at all of what happened afterwards and that was an excellent thing. Really, really, he was fine with that. It was bad enough how clear the morning after was etched into his brain with all the manly claps on his bruised shoulders and fucked up back telling him he'd been a really excellent sacrifice, very satisfying.

He managed not to be sick, but he was pretty sure it was because his stomach was empty. He stiffened his jaw and tried not to limp very much as long as he walked. Just real slow and careful, putting one step in front of another and telling himself he'd been more sore than this before and made it. At some point.

He smiled pretty through the bruises and signed the damned treaty like he was collecting a check and told himself that if the Admiralty fucked any of it up after this, he'd fucking bomb Starfleet headquarters himself and see how Admiral Hilarious and his posse liked that shit.

Good times, and that was before Spock showed up to collect him, took one long look and got on that too familiar face of violence is seriously fucking nigh, and wow was this not the time for that. Even at a moment like this it would never not be kind of funny that a Vulcan had a face like that. In fact, the irrational rage was usually part of the reason Jim really liked Spock so he tried not to hold it against him.

Instead he grabbed his First by the arm, letting his fingers dig in as hard as he had the strength too even if it probably hurt him more than it hurt Spock. "I don't know what your problem is, but if you say or do anything to fuck this up now after what I did to get it, I will end you," he hissed into Spock's pointy ear. Spock glared at him like he'd slit his pet bunny rabbit's throat and applied warpaint with its blood.

"Captain," he began, too loud, way too loud, and Jim had to dig his fingers in harder while he painted on a bright, diplomatic smile to let anyone watching know there was no problem at all.

"Shut up," he gritted out. "That is an order."

"Affirmative," Spock said in that same tone, like he was the one that had a problem. He peeled Jim's hand off his shoulder with deliberate ease and Jim didn't fight him on that, just took a quick step back and walked over, very, very slowly and carefully, to say goodbye to his hosts.

Spock didn't say a word until they were out of earshot and Jim told him to give him an hour and a dermal regenerator before they beamed back up. Then Spock was right back to glaring. "I believe your need for medical intervention is more extreme than that," he said, tone as even and deliberate as his face wasn't.

Jim shrugged, which made a rush of pain shoot up his spine. He covered the wince, though. "Sure, later. Now I'd really just as soon not beam onto my ship looking like..." Like the wrong end of a gang bang. Ha. "Like I lost a fistfight with the entire Panfederation boxing team."

Spock hissed in a deep breath. "I feel your levity is an inappropriate response to the situation and not typical of a human who has experienced deliberately inflicted trauma. Dr. McCoy should--"

"Fuck, no," Jim hissed, shaking his head fast despite the shooting pain. He could hear himself talking too fast, babbling like an idiot really, but he didn't seem to be able to stop. "I know him, he'll be really weird and he'll give me that look he's got. I mean, you're being weird, what's this typical business? But you're always weird. What's your problem anyway? It's fine."

Spock just gave him the blank Vulcan glare of incredulous doom, like he had no idea why Jim was being too dense to figure his weirdness out without a cheatsheet or an instruction manual, and clasped his hands behind his back.

They just stood there for what felt like a long time, glaring at each other as well as they could without direct eye contact. Finally Jim's knees started to get weak and his body remembered just how damned wrecked it was right now. Spock's hand on his shoulder, quick but careful, was the only thing that kept him from toppling.

"Perhaps you are correct, Captain," Spock muttered while he held Jim upright with warm, careful hands. "If the crew's... response to your condition is similar to mine, the situation for this planet could become problematic and jeopardize what you have accomplished. We will heal the surface damage before providing more in depth attention."

Jim blinked and put his palm to his forehead. Ow. "Okay," he mumbled, because it did sound like Spock was agreeing with him. Lucky, since he'd forgotten what the hell he was talking about. His head spun and there were black spots around the edges of his vision. He heard a soft, disgusting sounding whimper that he really hoped wasn't him and then the black spots got wider and he lost track of everything. Black out.

When he woke up again he was in a bed somewhere that smelled strange. He almost bolted upright, heart in his throat and not remembering a damn thing about where he was and what was happening to him. But then there was a hand on his cheek, so warm and smooth, with a voice behind the skin that soothed him down.

_Peace, Jim. You are with me, no harm will come to you_. Hazily, Jim wondered who the hell 'me' was, but the voice felt so warm and calm and he was so tired it was hard to care. His heartbeat steadied and he fell back down without ever opening his eyes.

  
When he finally came through the haze enough to actually feel like a human being again he was in sickbay in an isolated ward, laying on his side. Nothing hurt, so he'd either healed up pretty completely or they had him on the really good drugs.

The second one he decided, when he started to move. He could feel where the pain should be, the wrongness in his body, he was just blocked from feeling it by a wall of chemical bliss. He yawned and put his feet under him, figuring he'd take that.

Of course the second he got up some kind of alarm got triggered and that startled him into collapsing back onto the bed. That and his legs didn't work right, buckling under him like cheap replicators breadsticks.

The stupid alarm was followed up hard by Bones, who was running but trying to look like he wasn't running. High comedy. Jim smiled at him and tried to ignore the expected weird face. God, he'd never wanted to see that face.

"Hey, Bones," he said and waved weakly. "So, good job doctoring, thanks. Can I get out of here now?"

"You goddamned idiot," Bones seethed, and for a second his weird face shifted into the 'god, Jim is an asshole' face, which he could actually deal with.

He plastered a smile on and sat up on his elbows into what he hoped was a more dignified position. "But, hey, the mission went well, so on the plus side."

That turned out to be about the worst thing he could have said. Jim blamed it on the drugs. He would have blamed the color Bones turned on the drugs too, but he wasn't sure he was that lucky. "Well? That was well?" he said, like he was two seconds and some encouragement from screaming it at the top of his lung. "Damnit, Jim. I had to fucking sew you back together from the balls up and clean you out. You think you can't die like that? You can-- shock, dehydration, infection, never mind whatever drug they had you on screwing with your system. You could have died like _that_."

Jim swallowed and looked away, down at his hands. Fucked to death, what a thing to write home to his mom about. Not that she'd be surprised. "Yeah," he said. "Sorry you had to see that, I didn't expect--"

"Sorry I had to..." Bones didn't even try to stop himself from shouting the second time. "Don't you fucking dare apologize. Not you. My god-- just don't." He had that weird face back on double time when Jim got the nerve to look at him. Then he covered his face with his hands and that just made Jim flinch.

"Bones," he whispered. "I'm so-- I mean, look, it's fine. It's not a big deal, the admiralty was using the tools in its arsenal. It was just a cultural thing." And oh, great, now he sounded like Admiral Hilarious on his high horse and if Spock hadn't told Bones what had gone down on planet he was also going to have a shit ton of explaining to do.

He half expected Bones to start screaming more, was stiff and braced for it where he lay. He didn't though, he just looked at him. The awful, twisted up and helpless look, like Jim was a little baby terminal patient dying on the operating table. And god, fuck, he didn't know what to do with that.

"I really am sorry," Jim said, feeling just as helpless. "I don't know what else you want me to say."

Bones made a soft, strangled noise. "Jim," he said. "If it were-- imagine it was that Chekov kid sitting on that bed instead of you. Apologizing. How the hell would you feel?"

Jim shook his head sharply. He couldn't even imagine that, it wasn't how it was supposed to go. "That's different. We wouldn't let that happen."

"Jim," Bones began and oh, fuck, if he cried, Jim knew he was going to have to sink through the floor and die. He forced himself to yawn to interrupt it.

"C'mon," he said, pushing his voice to a whisper and putting all the stretched out exhaustion however much sleep he'd gotten hadn't fixed into it. "Can we talk about this later. I dunno what you want me to say and I'm really tired, man."

He closed his eyes right away and listened to the noisy sound of Bones breathing. No more words, to his absolute relief, but after a while, someone came and tucked a blanket around him, too carefully. Then he fell asleep for real.

  
The next time he woke up Uhura was sitting next to him. She was bent over a PADD, humming quietly under her breath. If the rest of the room hadn't been tomb silent, he wouldn't have heard her at all. He hopes to hell she's not going to be weird too, not Uhura.

"Hey, Lieutenant," he said softly, smiling a little when she jumped. "Got stuck with babysitting duty?"

He didn't have to ask if she knew. He figured that Spock would have told her one way or another. She looked tired when she met his eyes.

"Got stuck with nursing duty," she said softly instead of answering. "Dr. McCoy, Spock and I have been trading off. We didn't think you'd want the rest of the medical staff involved." Then she smiled at him, just Uhura, teasing a little and not weird at all.

He huffed a laugh at that that was pure relief. Didn't even feel a twinge and he didn't have that gut twisting drugged up feeling either, so he had to be getting back to fighting trim. "How'd you pull that off?" he asked.

"Said you had a potentially communicable disease of a personal nature and we'd already been exposed," she said cheerfully and that made him laugh harder. Now the crew thought he was in an illicit relationship with a good chunk of his senior staff. Awesome.

"What would I have to do to make that reality?" he teased and waited for the smack he knew she'd have given him before. She just shook her head, still smiling.

He went still when she leaned over him, brushing her lips against his forehead. So still, trying not to even breathe. She moved back after, just a little, so he could still feel her breath on his skin, meeting his eyes head on. "If that's what you want when you're well, we'll discuss it then," she said, with a quiet gentleness he could barely look at.

He opened his mouth to say he was well, completely well, fine, golden, it didn't even hurt anymore. Somehow he couldn't get the words out, not with her right there, looking at him like she got it for some reason. Like she just had the decoder ring and it made sense for her the same way her alien languages did.

"Okay," he said quietly. He should have hated the way he sounded like he was about three, but it didn't seem so bad with her looking at him like that. She smiled and rubbed her fingers against his cheek in a way that made him sigh and close his eyes for a second.

When he opened them again she was still smiling but there was an edge to it. She handed the PADD she'd been working on over to him to read. "Take a look at this," she said. "And tell me what it tells you about Hibernian dominance rituals and social positioning."

Jim just stared at her for a second, but she nudged him encouragingly so he read what she put in front of him. He mouthed the words and scanned them over a few times, mostly to be sure he was reading what he'd thought he was reading.

Looked at her and she looked at him back, reflecting his spreading grin. "Oh my god," he said, covering his mouth with his hands to stifle the beginnings of laughter. "Oh my fucking god, I cannot believe you figured this out. I love you the best."

"I'll bet," she said brightly and followed him down into giggles and then sobered and held him hard and tight when his laughter turned into hysteria and then into sobs. It hurt, it hurt and it should have felt stupid to cry. Instead it made him feel lighter, looser than he'd been in a long, long time, safe and close with her arms around him.

  
\

Spock was at his back when he called the Admiralty to let him know he knew about the state of affairs.

"You don't think this is a little like blackmail?" he peered over his shoulder at his First before he hit send on the subspace transmission button.

Spock gave him a vivid little not smile that spoke volumes. "The Admiralty knew or should have known that whoever partook in the Hibernian ritual would henceforth be looked to as the leader by the Hibernian rulership caste. It is the nature of their culture that the highest levels of leadership are required to make this sacrifice, not their underlings.

"So, in effect, the Admirals chose to give you control of the Hibernian dilithium trade." Then he crossed his arms across his chest, calm as you please. Nothing at all like the voice in Jim's head that had cut through the worst of his fever dreams down on the planet and completely recognizable at the same time.

Still, Jim raised an eyebrow at him. He couldn't resist, but that was part of what made him so damn awesome. "They chose to send me figuring I'd go along and tell the Hibernians whatever they told me to say, not use it against them."

At that Spock inclined his neck, just a degree and curved his mouth just a little more. "Perhaps they were simply... foolish if they made such an assumption. It is logical to discourage the Admiralty from imagining they may request similar favors from you at any point in the future. Consequences should be... drastic."

Jim laughed out loud, bright and helpless. He had the feeling that if he didn't do this, Spock would step up for him. Not that he would miss this or the look on the Admiral's face when the conversation got going for a fleet of ships just like the one he had.

"Did you know your girlfriend half promised that you guys were going to sleep with me sooner or later?" he asked, apropos of nothing.

Spock's eyebrow went up. "Indeed, Lieutenant Uhura had discussed this possibility with me. Is now the time you would like to negotiate further details? Or perhaps you would like to speak to Admiral Carter about the concessions he will be making?"

Jim laughed harder until he had to force himself to shut up. "Good point," he finally said once he had the last of it suppressed. He straightened his collar, stiffened his neck and looked straight ahead, knowing Spock was right behind him.

"Computer, private communication to Admiral Carter. Authorization Kirk Gamma Two-Niner."

[Letters and Papers (a prequel)](http://vaingirlfic.livejournal.com/66476.html)

[On the Dance Floor (a sequel)](http://vaingirlfic.livejournal.com/66808.html)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] Diplomatic Efforts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/812423) by [ann_ciudad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ann_ciudad/pseuds/ann_ciudad)




End file.
